Adam

I was walking to college along the Gray’s Inn Road thinking about my hideous English lessons. I was supposed to hand in an essay on Sylvia Plath in half an hour and I hadn’t started it yet. The whole subject was so boring. Earnest Hemmingway had been bad enough, I was never ever going to Spain after reading him; Sylvia Plath made me want to actually be sick.

The teacher was crap too. She wore black floaty dresses and she stood on the desk to recite the deadly poems. She didn’t like me either – probably because I never bothered to pretend to look interested. The only funny thing that ever happened in that class was the look that came into her eyes when she talked to Zach. It was hilarious; I’d got it off pat and used it whenever I wanted to wind him up – it always worked.

The walk was long and boring – there was absolutely nothing to look at – no interesting shops – just seedy ones, and dull offices. By the time I turned into Sidmouth Street I’d more or less decided that chucking English would give me more time to concentrate on my art.

As I waited to cross the road, I heard a noise in the distance and suddenly what looked like a whole fleet of motorbikes came slowly up the road. One of them stopped next to me and I could see Adam was riding it. He took his helmet off and smiled, his cheeks flushed red in the autumn sunshine

“Alright?”

“Ad where did you get that from?” I knew he was only sixteen still, and not old enough for a bike that size.
‘

He laughed; “We’re having a competition in the car park – I’ll see you down there.”

He put the helmet over his arm and drove the bike slowly down into the car park. I followed on foot and looked through the railings; there must have been at least twenty bikes in there, and about five boys standing around, laughing and slapping each other on the back.

I watched Adam through the fence as he parked his bike with the others; then he came over to me;

“Are they all nicked?

“Yeah – we’re seeing how many we can get”

I started laughing; “Fucking hell – you’re mad”

Adam shrugged and laughed. His eyes sparkled; “I’m going to the pub in a minute – how about you?”

That sounded like a much better plan than English

“Yeah, why not, see you there”

I crossed back over and pushed open the door. It was very dark inside, but cheerful and familiar. I breathed in the warm smoky air. Dave Brubeck was playing Take Five on the jukebox – he almost never stopped. I headed over to the table we always sat at – the one near the dartboard – and dumped my bag. There was always quite a crowd there; some people had already stopped going to classes altogether and spent the whole day in the pub.

When I’d bought my drink, I squashed in between T. and Aaron and took a sip of southern comfort. They were imitating the cowboys farting in Blazing Saddles. I sighed, they had been making the same joke for ages, and I wondered how they never got bored of it. Boys were sometimes hard to understand like that – they went on and on and on about such stupid things. Lately, as well as farting, it had been digital watches; suddenly they all had them – ugly great square plastic and metal things. I thought they were horrible.

I fished in my bag to see if there was enough money for another drink. As I got up to go to the bar, I met Adam coming in the door; he was looking very pleased with himself.

“You doing anything this afternoon? I might go home early – we’ve got some billy whizz – come if you want”

“Oh – thanks – I’d love to. What have you done with the bikes? That was so funny”

He smiled;

“We left them in the car park – it was a laugh wasn’t it? Shall we go now? “

I’d never been to Adam’s house before, although I’d heard a lot about it. Adam and Matt were on their own – their mother was working abroad for a year, and I’d heard stories of spectacular parties they’d had since she’d left.

It isn’t far from Kings Cross to Archway if the right Northern Line branch turns up. It was odd, suddenly being on our own – we almost always moved in a crowd so it felt very strange and slightly awkward. I tried to think of something to say

“Which country is your mum in?”

“Oh – Barbados, with Laurence”

He said the name very slowly, with a heavy emphasis on the first syllable, rolling his eyes;

“Is that her boyfriend?”

“Yes”

I was amazed at the idea of people that age bothering

“Wow….and she left you alone? With Matt?”

“Yep”

As the tube rattled round a bend I felt his hand brush against mine accidentally, on the armrest between us, it was quite nice, so I didn’t move away, and neither did he when the train straightened out again.